Joel
by Chantika19
Summary: [Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and ugly in us, but the emptiness.] A Deatheater's life is shaken by a very unexpected guest.


**A/N: This is my first stab at an angsty/dark fic, so please, leave me a little review and let me know what you think (givin, this is a prologue, and quite short). Also, t**ake note: this fic was essentially written by Luc Besson (Leon —The Professional), I've just applied and entwined his plot into the Potterverse, changing a few things on the way. (Quote by Eric Hoffer.)

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Before the Storm: A Prologue

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_Our greatest pretenses are built up _

not to hide the evil and ugly in us,

but the emptiness.

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Joel walked out of the dark house and into the soft, blue light of the glowing moon. He turned and closed the door behind him. He walked slowly, measured and quiet into the adjacent wooded area andpointed at the open air above the house._"Morsmordre." _

With a loud crack, he was back at the end of his own street, or rather, dirt path that led to two old, drooping, very large houses. He looked around making sure it was safe. But it was always safe for Joel. With or without his wand. He tucked it back into the inner pocket of his trench coat and made his way toward the house his grandfather had left to him, so many years ago.

He froze just outside the gate of his front yard. His tall, brooding figure stood silhouetted by the moonlight, looming. He heard a rustle in the bushes and turned his head toward the clatter. He slowly brought his hand up to his wand pocket. A young girl emerged from the obliging shrubbery with a bottle of wine in her hand. Joel relaxed his shoulders and rolled his eyes with a sigh. The girl discovered she was not alone and promptly threw the half-empty bottle back into the bushes.

"Er…Hey," she spoke, hiccupping between, "I didn't see you there." Joel held his hand up and out towards the girl and whispered, _"Lumos."_ A soft light emerged from the tip of his index finger and spilled across their faces. A small trickle of blood had dried beneath the girl's nose. Joel set his satchel down and reached into his pocket. "Hey…How did you do that without a wand…?" she asked with wide eyes and a blank, drunk expression upon her face.

"I'm not the first to do it, and certainly won't be the last," he absentmindedly explained as he searched for a handkerchief to give to the girl. He held out a neatly folded, cream-colored cloth with the letters,'_J.B.'_ embroidered horizontally on the bottom right corner. She took it and wiped it across her upper lip. She swallowed hard and began to shift uncomfortably in her stance.

"Is it just when you're a kid… or is life always like this?" she asked, taking another wipe at her face. Joel studied the girl. She had blue marks on her arm in the shape of four large fingers along with matching marks on the side of her neck.

"Always," he grunted and turned up the stone path to his front door. While his keys entered the lock, the girl spoke again.

"Look Mr. B, just don't tell my dad about the booze. I've got enough problems alre-" he heard before he closed the door behind him.

The girl fingered the spotted white cloth and stuck it deep into her pocket. She hiccupped and dissappeared back into the bushes.

Joel set his satchel on the table and wiggled out of his jacket before hanging it neatly on the coat rack beside the door. He took the seat in front of his case and opened it. He pulled out a quill, an inkwell, and a fresh, beautifully personalized sheet of parchment. At the top of the paper, black script read, _"Joel Blume."_

He dipped the quill into the tar ink and gracefully drew, in perfect pen, "_It is done_." He left the ink to sit and dry and walked to the window. He unlatched the hook and pushed the shutters open. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he whistled thenreturned to the table and rolled the letter, tying it with a long piece of yarn.

A moment later, a large chocolate brown owl swooped down onto the window ledge. It hooted and Joel walked over to him.

"Pagoda, here. You know where to take this," he informed the bird as it hooted in understanding. He fastened the scroll onto Pagoda's claw and closed the shutters as the bird flew off into the night. Joel turned away from the window and leaned against the kitchen counter. He placed his hands in his pocket and looked at the clock. Just that moment, the regulator announced midnight. Joel looked to his right, down the hall and into the main room. He eyed his cello laying on it's side. "That looks like a good idea," he mused, as he stood and walked through the hall and into his bedroom.


End file.
